Fighting, Honour and Valhalla || Vikings x The Originals x TVD

Family Mornings

Rebekah stirred slowly, her eyelids felt heavy as if weighed down by fish hooks trying to coax her back into sleep. A dull ache throbbed at her temples, and her mouth felt dry, tasting faintly of honeyed wine and something earthier. She blinked against the light filtering through the cracks in the longhouse.

"Mmmm," she groaned as she shifted around, finding her body tangled in a warm heap of limbs and bare skin. As she inhaled the scent of sweat and smoke from the dying hearth filled her nostrils, there was also the lingering musk of passion from last nights celebrations.

To her right, Lagertha lay half-naked, her tunic twisted around her waist, one arm draped over Gyda's bare shoulder. Meanwhile, Gyda breathed softly in sleep, her fair hair a wildly strewn about, her own clothing reduced to a blanket. On Rebekah's left, Thyri and Sophia were entwined in a more intimate sprawl, with Thyri's head nestled against Sophia's exposed breast, their legs interlaced and the former slightly grinding against the latter.

The hall was a sea of similar disarray with dozens of bodies slumped over benches, scattered furs and discarded garments forming makeshift nests. The only ones awake amongst them were the slaves, who moved quietly among them, stepping carefully over limbs as they gathered empty horns and cleared the worst of the mess.

Rebekah's heart gave a sudden lurch as fragments of the night flooded back; the wild dancing, Thorfinn's return like a dream made flesh. But where was he now? And Freydis! Gods, where was her daughter? She sat up abruptly, ignoring the protest of her sore muscles, her head whipping around in a frantic scan of the hall.

The children... there, in a far corner by the hearth, a cluster of little ones curled together under furs. Freydis was among them, her white hair peeking out like fresh snow, fast asleep with Ubbe's arm slung over her. Relief washed through Rebekah like cool water, but it was short-lived as Thorfinn was still nowhere in sight.

The bench where he'd last held her, the spot by the fire where they'd collapsed together was empty. Panic clawed at her chest. Had it all been a hallucination from too much drink? No, she would not humour that thought, the ache between her thighs was a testament to the night's reality.

She pushed herself to her feet, only to freeze as a draft kissed her bare body. She was completely naked, her skin marked with faint bruises and love bites, the cool morning air raising gooseflesh along her arms and legs.

She glanced around, spotting some of her clothing newrby as well as a discarded cloak, stained but serviceable. Snatching them up she got dressed before she wrapped the cloak around herself. It barely covered her thighs, but it would have to do.

Her bare feet padded across the floor, stepping gingerly over a snoring warrior and around a puddle of spilled ale. The slaves paused in their work, offering her bows, but she barely registered them, her pulse racing as she made for the door. Pushing it open with a creak, she stepped out into the crisp morning air of Kattegat. It was early in the morning so the village was only just stirring and with a lot of the village being at the feast last night, not many of them were up.

But more importantly there he was. Relief crashed over her like a wave, loosening the knot in her chest as she saw Thorfinn leaning against the outer wall of the longhouse, clad in a simple tunic and breeches that did little to hide the powerful build he'd gained in his years away. Beside him stood his friend, The Nubian, equally relaxed, the two of them passing a slender, carved pipe between them; what looked like a piece of wood hollowed out and smoldering at one end, releasing thin tendrils of smoke.

"Aru menkha tal'ib, Thorfinn. Sura kalem nadu!"

Thorfinn snorted, already smiling as he took the pipe.